


Burning dreams and burned dogs

by SpaderTre



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Bravo 3 Marines, Following the dialogue to the letter, Gen, POV First Person, Spoilers for Episode 5: A Burning Dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaderTre/pseuds/SpaderTre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suddenly missed it. Sixteen months ago, if someone had told me that I was to be missing Afghanistan for its competent leadership I would have sent them to a rubber tent, but now it was a sweet dream. We had been a capable team, but most importantly, we had been acting as recon marines.<br/>“Gentlemen,” I held up my bottle of Gatorade, “to Afghanistan.”</p>
<p>A section of Episode 5 in Colbert's POV, with added scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning dreams and burned dogs

Captain America was shouting his head off at an Iraqi a couple of meters away and I did my best trying not to feel bad for Eric who had to deal with it. Poke was still staring at the girls in the village with a hopeless look on his face. Jessie. She suddenly got real again. I didn’t envy him a bit.  
Bravo was spread out in and around the Humvees, surrounded by staring villagers. Person and Trombley were still talking family relations, an interesting topic for the two of them. I feared the impact on Reporter’s innocent ears.  
Simon was walking up towards Kocher but when he spotted me he headed over.  
“Sergeant Colbert.”  
“Good day, Jason, what can I do for you?”  
“It’s Casey Kasem.”  
“Do I want to know what royally retarded subhuman moron is up to now?”  
Simon did what I want every Corporal to do – he just told me:  
“He’s over at Three Two telling St James, Carisalez, Crosby and a few others that Bravo Two’s Lieutenant is a coward who isn’t fit to lead men in combat.”  
I froze. I didn’t know which word to emphasize the most, so I just took all of them: “ _Griego_ is calling _Fick_ a _coward?”_  
Simon nodded, but wisely kept quiet. I cursed under my breath.  
“As if this day couldn’t get any worse. Sweet Jesus, is today fucking All Fools Day or something?”  
“I think that’s tomorrow,” Simon said.  
“Then I’m really looking forward to that. There is a massive require for mental improvement in this company.”  
He gave me an empathic nod and went over to Kocher. Fick came the other way with Wynn and Meesh. Still looking alert and interested, as if this was just another day at the office.  
“Change of plan.” He almost smiled. “We have a village elder here providing info on a possible ambush on the road ahead.”  
“Well, let me guess, sir. The plan is for us to drive into it and draw fire.”  
“You’ll be happy to know there is no plan for this. Godfather’s pulling us back. The RCT is pushing up some LAVs to clear out the ambush. We’re staying in a wadi south of the bridge. “  
I was impressed. He saw it, smiled and headed off. I hadn’t passed on the information about Griego, but I couldn’t bring me to it. Not yet. I could still hope that Simon had misunderstood something. Which wasn’t likely, but sometimes you’ve got to hope.

* * *

 

Most of the platoon decided that free time meant chilling in the sun letting Rudy play barista, while artillery stroke the town ahead. Person and Wright were over there, I left the hook to Trombley and found Kocher and Pappy discussing Battalion tactic. Pappy had a razor in his hand and just finished off one of his usual proverbs previously unknown to history as I walked up to lean on the Humvee.  
“What’s this I’m hearing about Casey Kasem going around in front of E-3s and 2s, calling Lieutenant Fick a coward? “  
They had heard.  
“Jesus fucking Christ.”  
“Well, at least we ain’t in the position of having to babysit our platoon commander,” Pappy, the eternal optimist, pointed out.  
Eric looked away. He really had to step up now, and damn if he didn’t look ten years older than before we employed. We were in deep shit with Fick and Wynn threatened by suspension, but at least the platoon worked. Eric didn’t have that. Once again, I actually wished for someone to step in and point out that McGraw had lost it, because both Schwetje and Godfather were apparently either blind or had succumbed to illusions and wishful thinking when they let the man stay in command.  
“I heard back in the rear once they had a plan to push Navy psychiatrists forward to combat units,” I said. “Yeah, I scoffed then, but if ever there was a candidate to be locked up in the rubber tent, we know who he is.”  
“Can you imagine what the doctors would make of Ray Person?” Pappy asked.  
I had seen that one coming:  
“Need I remind you he is the best damn RTO in the business? As long as you keep him away from your uglier daughters and your smaller livestock. No. The individual who needs his head examined is the man responsible for taking arguably the finest damn independent recon operators of any military in the world, and dropping us in Humvee platoons to lead a parade of POGs, officers, and heavily-armed subhuman morons like Casey Kasem across Mesopotamia. How much does Uncle Sam spend on us? Jump school, dive school, mountain warfare, ranger school, SERE. That’s a $1,000,000 on average to train up 0321s like us. And here we are, perfectly-tuned Ferraris in a demolition derby.”  
“It sure isn’t Afghanistan,” Kocher said. “Any of us had been running our teams in that AO, we sure as shit wouldn’t have dropped a bomb on that village like they did this morning.”  
I suddenly missed it. Sixteen months ago, if someone had told me that I was to be missing Afghanistan for its competent leadership I would have sent them to a rubber tent, but now it was a sweet dream. We had been a capable team, but most importantly, we had been acting as recon marines.  
“Gentlemen,” I held up my bottle of Gatorade, “to Afghanistan.”

Pappy finished his shaving and headed back to Victor Four, only to get picked up by Rudy and efficiently re-shaved to public amusement. I remained next to Kocher. He seemed to be staring at nothing until he finally put his mug down.  
“Fuck it, Brad, I’m losing my grip here. There should be a war somewhere, but all I see is the mess up of command and my team is getting nuts. People talk openly about fragging him, and he’s heard it. He just smiles erratically. You know what Crosby did?”  
I shook my head.  
“After the airfield, while you were busy doing crucial maintenance work under your Humvee, I confronted McGraw about that fucking AK he’s been firing and he blamed it on Crosby. So, later Crosby went up to him requesting mast.”  
“Mast?”  
“Yeah, kid knows his ways. He accused Captain America of lying, pointed out that he’d never fired an AK, and that the only person in the vehicle with an AK was the commander.”  
“What did Captain America say?”  
“He just bowed down and walked away.” He spat. “It’s anarchy in Hitman Three now and I have no idea how to deal with it.”  
He seemed forlorn, and I considered my options for a couple of seconds. Eric needed reassurance, something to believe in and – well, a new platoon commander. I couldn’t give him that. We were still in the middle of the invasion, and he couldn’t break. Yes, he wanted a friend, but I couldn’t give him my honest opinion and I couldn’t let him slip now. He had always been strong, not only in the physical sense. That force had to get him through this, too.  
“Just keep your head up and move forward. You’re good, Eric, and they trust you. This isn’t a war to win honor and glory in, we all just have to unfuck one thing at a time until we’re through.”  
As I spoke, LAVs pulled back from town, hatches open and marines holding drop bags high.  
“Fucking hell,” Kocher said. “You think they’re gonna send us now?”

* * *

 

I found Fick sitting in his Humvee, his MOPP half open as he soaked up some rays from the setting sun.  
“Resenting the grooming standard, sir?”  
He smiled without opening his eyes: “I’m not the only one, Colbert.”  
“I didn’t think of you as a follower, going with the unintelligent masses.”  
“Shut up. What can I do for you?”  
“Well, sir, in this case, not a single thing. I’ve just got some intel to pass on.”  
“Are _you_ gossiping now?” He still smiled.  
“I wish I just came here to tell you the latest news of the ongoing romantic relations within the platoon, but unfortunately that’s beneath me.”  
“Oh, really?”  
I wanted him to get serious, but our jabbering was so familiar it was hard to break out of it. And the thing I wanted to say wouldn’t be better no matter how I chose my words.  
“Sir, Griego is walking around in front of younger Marines in Bravo Three, calling you a coward.”  
His eyes busted open. He scrutinized my gaze for signs, but found none.  
“Would have been a bad joke,” I said.  
He leaned back on the seat, taking deep breaths and seemed to see nothing of what I saw. It made me nervous.  
“Look, you’ve got 22 men out here ready to defend your honor to that …”  
“For God’s sake, Brad!”  
I waited for something more, but he just moved his lips quietly.  
“I suppose there is a protocol for this,” I finally said.  
“It is.”  
“Well, then I’m sure you will take care of the situation.”  
“I will.”  
There was nothing more for me to say. He was an officer, I was an NCO, and we weren’t friends. It was his responsibility and I shouldn’t feel any need to take care of him. I couldn’t help Kocher to fix Bravo 3 anymore than I could defend my CO from the company XO. I left him there and headed back to my own responsibilities.

I was writing up the report, sitting in the driver’s seat as Hasser just looked hopelessly at the disbanded M19 on the cover.  
“Without the right lubricant, it’s the same thing again and again. The sucker just jams.”  
I didn’t look up:  
“We just have to accept that the only dependable weapon you have up there is your SAW.”  
Person walked up, gleaming and happy.  
“Hey hey hey! You guys, I just did a really dirty thing. You know that picture of Rolling Stone’s girlfriend?”  
“I think it’s safe to say we all know her intimately at this point.”  
“Well, I got it back from Bravo Three and I swear to God, I was gonna give it back to him. But I ran into Wasik on the way over here. I traded that bitch for some PEC-2 batteries!”  
He held out a pack of AAs.  
“Ray, you pimped her out,” I said gravely.  
Person just laughed. “She is a dirty little hoochie, isn’t she?”  
I couldn’t help grinning. “Got any for the thermals?”  
Person snorted. “Jesus, dude. It’s a picture of a reporter’s girlfriend, not of J. Lo’s come-dripping twat.”  
“Yeah, you’re right. Walt, get some sleep.”  
Hasser looked up.  
“I’m gonna give this another try, Brad. You get some sleep.”  
I could’ve argued, but we were in camp and there should be opportunities for everyone to get some shut-eye tonight, so I just thanked him and dug out the E-tool from the Humvee. I really needed to improve my mood.

* * *

 

My clock read 20:16 when Person woke me up for TL meeting. If I had gone to sleep when Walt gave me the chance, I’d slept more. Now I’d gotten into the grave at 19:20, but at least I had been asleep within that minute. It all meant that I hadn’t even got a full hour of sleep and to make things better I had dreamt of that fucking hamlet. I was so tired that the stench in my mouth tasted like either over-chewed chewing gum or crackers gone stale, and my dozy mind had decided that this was a high priority conclusion to make.  
I was the last one to get to Fick’s Humvee, not really awake enough yet to read his mood.  
“Those who remain are going to take their last stand here.” He pointed on the map to a bridge outside of the town that had been the aim for artillery all afternoon. “Bad news is we don’t sleep tonight. Good news is we get to kill bad guys. In six zero mikes, Bravo Company and Charlie Company are maneuvering onto the western side of this canal. Our orders are to set up positions as we see fit along the MSR and hunt for paramilitaries operating in the AO. Our goal is to terrorize the Fedayeen, and this platoon will be on point.”  
The rhetoric was not the Fick we’d heard up to now, and I got a bad feeling. There was an edge to him that I wasn’t used to. Neither was Lovell, apparently.  
“Better us than Captain America.”  
Fick didn’t even react to the nickname now. Either he was trying to get our morale up, or he’d just started to use the nickname himself.  
“The point is we are taking the initiative. And they’re letting us do it at night when we have the advantage.”  
I had to ask: “Sir, need I remind you a lot of that advantage resides in our thermals, and we don’t have a single working set in the entire platoon?”  
He didn’t flinch.  
“Brad, we still have our NVGs, PEC-4s and 17-Bravos.”  
I couldn’t argue with that. Not that it would be the same, but technically he was right.  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Sir, the regiment’s staying on the eastern side of the canal?” Pappy asked.  
“Affirmative.”  
“And we got Alpha and H&S staying behind?” he continued.  
“We’re going lean. We’re hunters tonight.”  
“I mean that’s all good, sir, but how’re we supposed to get around this bridge and the town up to where the LAVs was fighting?”  
“We’re not going around it. Brad, your team will be leading us across it.”  
In the silence his eyes were hard on me. But whatever was going on, I had to get something more of this plan than just head in to the most obvious ambush point in the entire grid.  
“Sir, is my team to do a foot patrol first to get eyes on the bridge? Make sure that the enemy ambush in place has in fact been eliminated?”  
“Negative, Brad.” He didn’t look apologizing. Something had happened with him tonight and I wondered if Casey Kasem had gotten to him somehow.  
“Reconnaissance, sir,” Bryan pointed out. “Isn’t that what Reconnaissance Marines are supposed to do?”  
“Our timetable does not allow for a foot patrol. The chances of a serious threat are extremely low. We’ve been hitting those ambush points hard all evening.”  
Pappy didn’t let it go.  
“Sir, if the LAVs are coming back with casualties, how’s a Humvee supposed –”  
“Frankly, gentlemen,” Fick’s voice was hard. “I’m not hearing the aggressiveness I’d like. Prepare your teams to step off.”  
He had orders he had to follow and we could only execute them.  
“Yes, sir,” I said and saw him walk off.  
Wynn followed. Pappy looked after them.  
“The people running this war can fuck things up all they want. And as long as we keep getting lucky and making it through alive, they’ll just keep repeating the same mistakes.”  
We looked at each other and then went on to prepare our teams. Grunts. Following orders. Over my shoulder I saw Fick arguing with Wynn. Not good. And the taste in my mouth neither improved nor disappeared, and parts of my mind was still busy deciding.

* * *

 

Poke handed over a pair of NVGs in return for the now empty battery pack as I filled up my supply of grenades and double-checked the radios.  
“What’s our TAD with our Cobra escorts?” I asked Person.  
“None. We don’t have comms.”  
Fucking Mary and Jesus and every single one of the apostles.  
“Why not?”  
“That would be too easy. I don’t know. No one’s rogering up on the TADs.”  
He tried to pull off the I-don’t-care-look, but I knew him too well. Behind me, 1.90 meters of reporter tried to settle in. My gut feeling about this was terrible. LAVs drawing casualties, Fick’s moto, no thermals, no moon so low illume, erratic weapons, into an ambush – it was hard to argue with it. I turned back to Wright.  
“Hey. This is going to be a short mission, so um, why don’t you stay back here with headquarters?”  
He looked stunned. It took him a moment to understand what it meant. Everyone else in the vehicle already did. To their credit, they just kept preparing without looking up.  
“Okay,” Wright finally said.  
I nodded and he opened the door. Poke slammed it shut.  
“No, no. Reporter ain’t gonna leave, Brad. He skips town on us now, he might change our luck, and that could adversely affect our ability to survive and complete this mission.”  
“Are you kidding?” Wright asked.  
I wasn’t superstitious, but I wouldn’t order the man out. Poke glared at Wright.  
“You don’t want to make our luck adverse and all, do you, dawg?”  
“No,” Wright said.  
I resigned.  
“Okay. Poke; make sure your team watches our Mark-19. If we’re down, I want Garza to pick up the slack with your .50.”  
“Roger that. See you on the other side, sucka.”  
He walked away. I tried to get my head in the game again.  
“Turn it over, Ray,” I ordered and passed the rest of the grenades to the back. “Trombley, stow this.”  
Person started the engine, and started singing.  
“ _On the road again. Like a band of gypsies we go down this highway. We’re the best of friends ..._ ”  
“Hey. Hey!”  
“Sorry, dude.”  
“Pass me some of your Ripped Fuel. And I fucking mean it about the country music.”  
He handed me the can and I downed a mouthful while he kept talking. It would hopefully at least make the taste of gum go away.  
“You know Brad, you’re right. Now isn’t an appropriate time for country music. I was thinking a little more old-school R&B. Because look,” he flipped down his NVGs, “I’m Stevie Wonder, blind as a motherfucker in my piece-of-shit NVGs.”  
He started chanting as we moved out. It didn’t lift my spirits.

* * *

 

Cobras were ahead of us as we approached the bridge. The Humvee was quiet except for the radio calls. Suddenly Person asked:  
“Brad, is that a guardrail on this side of the road?”  
I glassed it.  
“It's the shoulder. It slopes. I know you've got no depth perception in those NVGs, but use some common fucking sense in your situational awareness.”  
“It's the way that the fucking ambient light is slanting in,” he either complained or explained to the very quiet Wright. “I can't tell if the dark areas are ditches or walls.”  
No, but you could make a guess.  
Poke called in a possible foot mobile, which of course happened to be a plastic bag. A vehicle approached us but suddenly the headlights went out. What farmer was driving in to something that had been bombed to pieces all day?  
We got closer to the bridge and the Cobras kept blowing things up in front of us.  
“I don't even have a plastic bag to shoot”, Trombley complained.  
“Oh, now remember, James,” Person lectured, “once you fire a bullet, you can't take it back. God damn it!” he cursed.  
I pressed send:  
“Two Actual, this is Two One. Interrogative, do we have any idea what those Cobras are shooting at?”  
_“Negative, Two One. We have no comms with the Cobras, over.”_  
At least they hit something. I watched the grass next to the road and realized our speed was decreasing. Person cursed behind my shoulder.  
“Why are we slowing, Ray?”  
“My NVGs keep going off. It's from the fucking flashes from the rockets keep washing them out, and I can't see shit!”  
I kept my eye in the scope and contacted Fick again.  
“Two Actual, interrogative. Are we to continue forward into area being lit by those Cobras?”  
_“Two One, maintain direction and speed. Over.”_  
Orders, orders. He didn’t know why either.  
“Roger that.”  
“Cobras are prepping the east side of the river, over,” he continued.  
That’s when the shell cases rained down over us.  
“Hold your sectors!” I ordered.  
I heard Hasser curse over my head. Good sign, I supposed.  
“You all right, Walt?”  
“Nothing. Shell cases hit me,” he called back.  
Then I finally saw the bridge. Concrete structure, half a meter barriers on my side. Next to it was a group of trees. I was scoping them as Person started swaying.  
“Why are we turning, Ray?”  
“There was a ditch or something in the road. Hey, something's blocking the bridge.”  
I looked up from the scope but couldn’t see a thing a head. Pitch black and no chance of aiming the rifle that way.  
“You see it, Walt?” I shouted.  
“Yeah, it's like a Connex box in the middle of the road.”  
Person halted. My bad feeling just got worse.  
“All Hitman Two Victors, be advised, there is an obstacle in front of the bridge,” I radioed. “We cannot continue forward.”  
_“Hitman Two One, is there any way around it?”_ Fick asked.  
“Negative, Hitman Two. We need to peel.”  
I kept my eyes on the vegetation next to us. If they were anywhere, they would be there. At least to spot us for the RPGs.  
“Ray,” I said. “I need us to egress immediately. We're in a kill zone here.”  
He didn’t argue. “Walt, can you see the ditch that I just drove past?”  
Hasser answered from above.  
“Yeah, it ain't a ditch. It's like a drainpipe that's been drug on the road.”  
I gave Person new orders before he tried to get off the road into what should be a mined zone if they knew what they were doing. “You have to make a three-point turn here. Turn around.”  
“I got trees on my left, maybe five meters off the road,” Trombley reported.  
“Fuck! Hey, Brad, Espera's vehicle is in front of us. We're fucking boxed in!”  
I didn’t look up.  
Trombley and Hasser called no targets and Person got on the radio.  
“Two One Bravo, this is Two One Alpha. We need you to turn around, over.”  
_“Two One Alpha, this is Two One Bravo. Two Two is blocking us. Over,”_ Lilley answered.  
_Sundown_ came to me as everyone tried to get the cluster fuck sorted. I scoped the berm from right to left and back again with that one line on repeat in my head. Suddenly I saw the first face.  
“There are men in the trees.”  
I made the call and pulled the trigger. He fell backwards and I looked for the next one. Everyone opened up and the radio went wild.  
Trombley called contact and sounded mostly happy about it. I ignored him and got into to combat mode. Not caring about the incoming, just keep steady and enhance my vision. Miss nothing. A movement to my right; someone tried to get away from the fire from a SAW. IR designators marked targets like fireflies in the black vegetation.  
“Ray, how's our progress egressing?” I finally asked.  
He answered in my ear:  
_“All Hitman Victors, this is Two One. Is it at all possible for any of you to back up?”_  
Baptista answered in Portuguese and Person cursed some more. I heard him opening the door and dismount the vehicle to scream at someone. Even the best RTO sometimes has to go for the low tech comms.  
“Not going well!” he shouted as he came back.  
A very small part of my brain – that should have been occupied with what I was doing – registered this and protested. He had walked into gunfire and not got shot, that was comparatively ‘well’. Then RPGs came launching, thundering down to our right, probably from the other side of the river.  
“Walt!” I called. “400, 200 meters!”  
I heard it when he opened up.  
“Fuck yeah!” he triumphed.  
We still haven’t moved.  
“Hitman Two, this is Two One. We are unable to move in any direction, over,” I called but the next call wasn’t Fick’s but Pappy’s.  
_“Hitman Two, this is Two Two. Man down! Say again, Team Two has a man down! Over!”_  
It had only been a question of time. We had just been lucky so far.  
There is always a first. This fucked up situation had now reached the point when our crazy ass luck was leaving us bare, and no one would know how many of us that were to go down before we got out of this. I fired again. It shouldn’t be any one of my team if I could help it, god damn it.  
_“Hitman Two Two, this is Hitman Two. What’s your status?”_ Fick’s voice was full of emotions for the first time tonight. _“I say again, what’s the status of your man down? Over.”_  
_“I’ve been hit in the foot,”_ Pappy said. _“Break. We’ll try a tourniquet. We’re returning fire.”_  
He managed to sound tranquil even when hit. I shoved away all thoughts. Keep firing until we get out of here. Nothing I can do. I saw lights on the other side of the river.  
“What the fuck is the lieutenant doing?” Person asked. “Holy shit!”  
My side of the Humvee still faced the trees so I had literally no idea and tried not to worry about it.  
“Two Three is moving!” Trombley reported.  
“Brad, that motherfucker is running around directing traffic like a goddamn NYPD cop on a Saturday. Holy –”  
“Person! Shut the fuck up.”  
Walt called something.  
“What?” Person yelled.  
“Pappy’s moving!”  
A new RPG dropped down to our right and deafened my senses. I didn’t care. Fick had done something to get the platoon in gear and we should move now.  
“Person, turn now!”  
“Talk to me, Walt!” Person called.  
“Clear! Okay, go go!”  
Person got the vehicle moving and I made the call:  
“Two One peeling.”  
It was strangely soothing to hear Fick scream on the radio:  
_“All Victors, push past Bravo Three’s position and hold. Break, break. Two Two, what is Echo Five Papa’s status?”_  
The Humvee was bumping around like we had a flat tire, but I didn’t care. It could just as well be Person’s driving.  
_“We’ve stopped the bleeding. He’s stable, break,”_ Brunmeier said. _“What’s the status of the casevac? Over.”_  
_“Stand by,”_ Fick answered and then Lovell called everyone up and we swirled by Bravo Three. I saw Moreno shaking his head.  
Person pulled the vehicle to a stop and we just sat there. When you’ve been shot on for the better part of half an hour without getting hit you feel strangely bewildered when it finally is over. That’s when it’s time to handle the next cluster fuck.  
“Check the tires, Ray,” I said and got out of the vehicle.

* * *

 

Pappy was still sitting in the Humvee as Doc was working on his left foot, cursing not even under his breath. Team Two and most of Three had congregated around them. I could only see Rudy from behind, but his shoulders were slumped forward and it wasn’t hard to guess how his face looked. Jacks had an arm around Chaffin and Lovell patted Brunmeier’s back. I placed my hand at Rudy’s neck and pulled him closer as Pappy groaned under Doc’s touch.  
“How are you doing?” I asked with my eyes on Pappy, leaving any of them to answer.  
“I’m fine,” Pappy said between clenched teeth. “You ladies don’t have to stand around watching – argh!”  
Doc grunted.  
“Shut up,” Rudy told Pappy.  
“Stiney, get me some water,” Doc called but before Stinetorf could even nod Chaffin held out a water bottle.  
I didn’t have to turn to hear Fick approach. Doc shot a look over his shoulder.  
“Where’s the casevac?” he asked with his attention back on the now less bloody lump that was Pappy’s foot.  
“We need to drive him down to battalion,” Fick replied. “Rudy, are you up for it?”  
“Yes sir.” Rudy stood straighter and I withdraw my hand.  
“I’ll come with you,” Fick said. “Doc?”  
“Mhm.”  
“I need you to take a look at Stafford when you’re done here.”  
Doc nodded.  
“What’s up with Q-tip?” Jacks asked.  
“Shrapnel to his leg,” Fick answered.  
“The bleeding stopped?” Doc asked.  
“Seems like it. Christeson’s watching him.”  
“Give me a minute.”  
“Sure. Brad?”  
“Yes sir.”  
I followed him away from the gathering.  
“Your team okay?”  
I nodded.  
“I’m glad to hear. Okay, so plan now is to pull a few more LAVs up to clear out the ambush points and then we pull into town. Bravo Three takes point over the bridge.”  
“Because that plan was so extremely successful this time,” I couldn’t help pointing out.  
He looked away. It was dark, but his teeth seemed just as clenched as Pappy’s. He didn’t say a word. _You walked into gunfire to get us out of there._  
“Apologies, sir,” I lowered my voice. “I’m speaking out of line.”  
He just shook his head with an expression I couldn’t read and walked away. I went to find Kocher, because I couldn’t stand being around any Bravo Two right now.

* * *

 

Captain America was at an all time high. I won’t say I felt any sympathy for the man, but for once his situation apprehension correlated to his Marines’ even though his reactions to it didn’t. He ran around his teams while the men quietly prepped their weapons and Humvees. Carisalez was leaning into the hood of Team Two’s Humvee as Redman held the flashlight for him. Kocher looked up from his seat.  
“How’s Pappy?” No greetings or anything, just straight to the point.  
“Shot in the foot. Waiting for casevac.”  
“He’s gonna be okay?” Redman asked.  
I shrugged. Kocher went back to prepping his weapon.  
“Why are the LAVs standing by while Humvees get chopped up?” Redman complained. “Eric?”  
Kocher kept his eyes on his M4 and Redman caught his mood. He kicked Carisalez’s leg instead.  
“How are you doing down there, Dirty?”  
Carisalez cursed from deep within the engine as Captain America came up to Moreno’s vehicle next to us. I did my best not to listen and focused on sitrepping to Kocher instead.  
“The ambushers were untrained men in the trees, severely underestimating our night vision. Anywhere between fifteen and thirty of them. AKs, no vehicles. RPGs came from the east side of the bridge, spotters must be over there but we couldn’t glass them.”  
He nodded.  
“Have you got what you need for the NVGs? Batteries for the thermals?”  
“We’re good, Brad.” He didn’t look good, which wasn’t too surprising given the present situation.  
“Anything I can get you? I can strip some –”  
“Don’t.” He got his weapon ready and got out of the victor.  
I took a step back to give him way. I had seen him in similar situations, I knew him and I knew how he felt, because I’d been there a couple of hours ago. But I had lost Pappy tonight and I didn’t want to lose any other man and especially not Eric. It wasn’t for unselfish reasons, even though I was sure that Bravo 3 would shatter the minute he wasn’t holding the platoon together anymore.  
“Eric,” I said and he turned to me.  
Behind him McGraw had finished bothering Moreno and was on his way.  
“We’ll be fine, Brad,” Kocher sighed and seemed to will himself into answering politely. “It’s been madness all around, but somehow we’re all still here, well, not counting Darnold.” He hugged me and then quickly sidestepped McGraw who instead asked me:  
“What was the situation like on the bridge, sergeant?”  
“We didn’t reach the bridge, sir. I hope your unit will do better.”

 


End file.
